Sometime Around Midnight
by the-reckless-dreamer
Summary: Small moments between almost-lovers. (Don't read if you haven't read GG5. Also, adult content.)
1. Permafrost

**First lemon. I'm trying to get past my own squeamishness and try something new.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Disclaimer- I am not Ally Carter. Ally Carter is much too classy to write about the sordid sort of things I write about.**

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Chapter One

_ Permafrost_

Zachary Good couldn't sleep.

It was quiet. Too quiet, he thought. He had lived in cities and loud Circle headquarters all of his life. Quiet—especially the complete silence like he had found there, in the Nebraska countryside—was completely alien to him. Not entirely unpleasant, but alien nonetheless.

He tossed and turned. His bed, in the guest room provided by Grandma Morgan, was soft and warm, but it was a little much. The extra blankets piled atop the original blanket—also provided, with a warm smile and wishes for sweet dreams, by Grandma Morgan—felt like more than he could bear.

How odd this universe was, the cozy niceness. The world he had grown up in had been harsh; his mother often beat him, and the men who trained him in the ways of his world were not any kinder, either. Ever since he had been on his own, he had either been running away from someone, with Joe Solomon, or looking for Cammie—comfort, and love, were two things that he was entirely unaccustomed to.

But when Cammie, at the end of the first semester of their senior year, had suggested that he go with her to her grandparent's home, he had thought she was joking. Zach Goode, despite his skill and charm, was not the kind of boy a girl brought home to meet her family. Still, she persisted, and by the time she was leaving for Nebraska, Zach had found himself packed and on his way to a side of Cammie's world that he had never seen.

It was a nice side, he had decided. Eerie, but nice.

So there he was, in the guestroom bed, and unable to sleep. He decided to attribute this to the aforementioned eerie quality of the 'homey' situation.

Mostly, though, he knew it was because of the fact that Cammie was in her own bed, two rooms away from him.

Even though he had been there for nearly five days, the novelty had never been lost on him. From the first night, the thought of her asleep—in whatever kind of pajamas she wore here—had made him feel fizzy inside. It was stupid and childish, he knew, but he spent most of his time wondering what it would be like to kiss her. In her bed. _Without _his (or her) pajamas on…

Good god, he sounded like a five year old.

Something had to be done.

Before he could change his own mind, Zach swung his feet onto the cool wood floor. He stood, plotting his best way of getting to Cammie's room (could he climb down his window and edge along the ledge of the porch roof to her own room? No, too much noise) and decided that the best way would be just to walk there. And if he was caught, he could just say he was going to the bathroom or make up some other bullshit excuse.

With that, he opened the door, crept into the hall, gently turned the knob of her door, and shut it within seconds.

Cammie's room was just as dark as his. He hadn't seen it before that moment (Cammie's grandparents, knowledgeable about the obvious relationship between the two teenagers, had hinted at a no-sharing-of-rooms policy. Going into her room at all would be pressing his luck, but going there, at night, was nearing suicide-mission dangerous) but decided that the décor wasn't his biggest worry.

"Gallagher Girl?" He whispered. "You awake?"

"Zach?" The girl called from her bed, her voice surprised but fully alert. "I didn't hear you come in."

He chuckled as he blindly made his way to the bed. He sat on the edge. "You're getting sloppy."

She laughed back. "Home always makes me sloppy."

In the dim moonlight filtering in through the window, Zach saw her scoot over and pat the bed beside her. Hesitantly, he slipped under the covers and laid his head on the pillow, facing the ceiling.

Little glowing shapes were glued to the ceiling, something he hadn't noticed before his eyes adjusted. It made him smile.

"I like your glow-in-the-dark-stars. Very classy."

He felt, rather than heard, her chuckle beside him.

"When I was eight, I had an obsession with the stars. My parents bought me this huge telescope before I came here that summer, because you can see the stars so much better."

"I noticed that. It's like they tripled in number or something."

She laughed, absentmindedly snuggling into his chest as she said, "Yeah, it seems like they do."

Zach was about to say something in response, but his words died in his throat.

Because Cammie—lovely Cammie, who happened to be his unofficial official girlfriend/romantic interest—was not wearing pants.

He didn't really know how he found out. One second, his fingertips accidentally brushed some skin that, after some moments of silent contemplation, he realized was her bare thigh. It wasn't covered by pants or a dress or something else even remotely substantial. He longed to continue moving his fingers along that area, but he knew that wouldn't exactly be received well.

Then she kissed him, and he questioned that original statement (but soon forgot it, because kissing is something one can easily get lost in.)

The kiss was slow and leisurely. It had almost seemed accidental, the way her lips moved closer and closer to his. He wrapped an arm around her small waist as she stuck a hand in his hair, the other on the small of his back. Their lips played together in a game of overlapping movement, never ending and fluid in their grace. Their tongues gently danced around each other, delicate and timid in their approach. It was a gentle, gradual kiss—the kind they rarely indulged in—and they enjoyed it in its languid splendor. They lived fast lives, so soft moments such as this were rare.

But soon that wasn't enough. Their lips collided with a growing fierceness. Their embrace tightened as she moved atop him and he wrapped both of his strong arms around her waist. Her fingers played with the hem of his t-shirt, and soon moved over his tight abdomen. He sighed as she ran her hands over his muscles, but she suddenly broke away.

"Zach?"

"Yes?"

"Can you take your shirt off?"

She sat up, the covers falling off her shoulders as she straddled him. His eyes, which had been closed during the kiss, readjusted to the dim room and were able to roam over her slight curves; her thighs and hips, underwear barely concealed by her t-shirt, stomach and breasts shrouded by the blasted cotton, all the way to her grinning, beautiful face.

Damn.

"Why, Cam?"

"Because," she said simply, "I like you with no shirt. I see you without a shirt a lot-"

He chuckled, remembering her bumping into him weeks before when he was in a towel; when he had been in the barn and she yelled at him, so long ago…

"…But I can never touch," she finished absentmindedly.

Without asking his permission, she placed trembling fingers on the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up and off in one smooth motion. Cammie grinned to herself as she watch his stomach muscles tighten under her hands, his breathing shorten as she kissed his neck and collarbone. His skin was warm under her fingers, and that delicious smell that she always noticed—boy and soap and _Zach_—filled her nose and mouth as she kissed his shoulders.

"Well, someone is getting excited," she murmured in between breathless kisses. The hardness in his pants pressed against her underwear, and he flushed, suddenly and uncharacteristically shy.

"Sorry, we can stop if you-"

"Are you kidding me? God, no. We're in this far," she said, giggling nervously, ironically.

With that, she pulled off her own shirt, exposing her lean, flat stomach and breasts to the moon-lit room.

Zach sucked in a breath as she attacked him with kisses, the skin of their bodies pressing together. He smiled and growled playfully as they rolled around on the bed—she moaned as he gently cupped her breasts, kissing down to her collarbone and then further to her rosy peaks which had hardened at his touch.

"Zach, what are you…?"

"Shh," he whispered. He attacked her breast with his mouth, his tongue encircling her nipple. She moaned, arching her back.

"God, Zach," she panted. Zach grinned as he ran his hands over and between her thighs, his fingertips barely grazing her pelvic bone, and her hips bucked, breath quickening. Her whole body seemed to flush, heat rushing to the most delicate of areas between her legs.

"Cam, I…" Zach trailed off, breaking off and looking into her eyes. Their chests heaved together, two pairs of eyes speaking of everything they were feeling. "Do you really want to do this?"

There were many decisions in their lives that they had had to face prematurely. Many of those had to do with life and death; most were the kind of decisions that no teenager should have to face at that age, let alone ever. They were two people who had seen more horrors than many; they were mature beyond their years.

They felt—lying there, limbs entwined, skin burning with sensation—that this decision should have been easy. Yet, it wasn't. Even as desire raged through their hormone-racked bodies, they hesitated.

Then, quietly, almost imperceptibly, Cammie nodded.

The rest came gently. They had come from slow to giddy to slow again, but this felt even newer than the other emotions that had raced through them in that short time span. The intimacy of the moment weighed down on them as they stripped away the rest of their clothes, the only sounds surrounding them the soft rustles of removing clothes and sharp little intakes of breath as they brushed against each other in the dark.

Finally, the moment of truth; their bodies pressed together, eyes locked, arms around each other.

Slowly, almost reverently, he entered her. She clenched her teeth together at the slight bit of pain, and he whispered his apologies and buried his face in her neck, guilt racking his soul as he slowed and let her adjust. After a few moments, Cammie whispered, "Okay," then he commenced.

Their movement was rhythmic, like the waves of the ocean. Cammie wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting to bring him closer—ever closer, never close enough—and he groaned quietly as she kissed him, tongue slipping into his mouth.

Almost at once, the urgency came again, and they continued to kiss to muffle their moans. He kept his thrusts as small as he could to minimize the creaking of her bed frame and the floor, but the thought of her grandparents catching them soon vanished in the pleasure of the moment.

They were lost to each other. All thoughts of anything else in their world were instantly dissipated in that moment of pure bliss as they reached a new plateau of existence, together and together and as one. They both longed to scream, longed to moan and gasp and call out each other's names, but the words stayed in their throats, in their interlocked mouths.

After it all ended, they laid together, side by side, facing the ceiling. The stars glued there didn't glow as brightly, as if they were feeling judgmental and, as a result, were shunning them from the soft artificial light. Their bodies, so interlocked and completely together not moments before, were almost ridged as they distracted themselves from the moment by dressing as quietly as they could.

Finally, there were no more distractions. They stood on opposite sides of the bed, the dim light masking them as mere silhouettes.

"So…" They both started at once, and then laughed awkwardly. Between the two of them, they were both prolific in nearly twenty languages, fairly good in six more, but completely incapable of knowing what to say.

"What do we do now?" She asked.

He shrugged. "You tell me."

They were quiet, and then she finally said, "Maybe you should go back to your room."

He nodded, knowing that this was the best thing. The sun would be rising soon, and her grandparents would no doubt be waking up within the hour. Any thoughts of them continuing this… Whatever it was… Was, at least for today, foolish.

He softly padded to her door, but turned to her at the last moment. She bumped into him in her hurry to close the door behind him, and he looked down at her. Their hearts, despite their years of training to prevent such an occurrence, were in their eyes, and anything either of them had planned to say was lost in the kiss that quickly followed.

The kiss, as many of their past kisses had had to do, spoke of everything they either didn't know or couldn't say. It was a final kiss, as if they were deciding that this was the only time they would allow themselves to do something this distracting, at least for the time being.

They did, after all, have terrorists to take down, lives to save, and loved ones to avenge; they couldn't allow things as silly as love or sex get in the way of that.

They broke away from each other, and they both found themselves smiling. The sun, so sneaky in its approach, broke through her window, highlighting his face and streaming around her mussed hair.

"Until next time, Gallagher Girl," he said quietly, and he smirked. She rolled her eyes and grinned.

He walked away and into the hall, closing his door behind him, and she closed hers, and they grinned to themselves in a way they had never grinned before as the morning sun rose over the blindingly snow-covered hills.


	2. Us

**Thanks to anyone who read/reviewed/followed/favorited this story! You guys are very gracious and fucking awesome, and it keeps me writing. **

**Just as a quick note, this is the _complete_ second chapter. Before, I think some people were confused as to how it ended, but it was intentional-it was already long enough, and I just didn't want to get into all the, ahem, _details_ again. I think some stuff is best left to the imagination, no?**

**Disclaimer- I own nothing.**

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Chapter Two

_Us_

Cameron Morgan couldn't concentrate.

Of all of her classes, she had always loved P&E the best. It was an hour of pure physical release that almost therapeutic, in a way. She could kick and punch, yell and curse, cry and moan all she wanted without the threat of strange looks or reprimands from her teachers.

She had spent countless hours there, with her classmates and best friends as they discussed the mysteries (and boys) that had haunted the better part of their time at the Academy. The world always seemed to make sense after a workout at the P&E barn.

It was also one of the few places that had witnessed the tears of Cameron Morgan. She would sit on the floor, staring at the moonlight that shone between the holes in the roof; she would punch the bags that hung from the ceiling, swing from the chains and zip lines that were part of the dreaded obstacle course they had to pass at the end of senior year. She would cry until she couldn't breathe, until she had calmed down enough to remember who she was and where she fit in the world.

More recently, the barn and its accompanying swallows had seen a number of interactions between Cameron Morgan and her (rumored, but everyone knew they were a thing) boyfriend, Zachary Goode, most of which consisted of yelling, then crying, then hugging, then kissing, then sleeping.

These memories-combined with the fact that they had slept together for the first time just a week prior-were clogging Cammie's mind and mashing it into goo and making her unable to concentrate on anything besides the fact that Zach had taken off his shirt.

He was her sparring partner, which wasn't unusual. Their P&E teacher knew that they worked well together. She wasn't afraid of his lean, muscular build and he wasn't afraid to kick her and break all of her bones in the process. They both knew this, and were happy enough to fight and throw little quips in between round-house kicks and Bernouli Manuevers.

But today he took his shirt off. Which wasn't unusual, in and of itself. It was just the naked thing, and the sex thing, and the _'holy crap has his six pack become even _more _defined'_ thing that made today a problem.

"You okay, Gallagher Girl?" Zach wheezed, bent at the waist after she halfheartedly did a Mariatti Maneuver on him. "I'm not writhing in agony on the floor, so something must be off."

She gave him a strained smile, wiping sweat off of her forehead, suddenly self-conscious about the tank-top and short shorts that clung to her sweaty body. Why did it matter? Her friends had assured her that the need for self-consciousness was way past-he had seen her in every possible disgusting, embarrassing situation and still seemed to like to kiss her.

She rolled her shoulders and told herself to stop being stupid. She would just ignore the whole shirtless thing, and the weird tension between them that she was the only one who seemed to notice.

It had been there ever since the _morning after_. They had gone downstairs to a huge Christmas breakfast that Grandma Morgan had lovingly made, which was accompanied by kisses and hugs and wrapped Christmas presents for both of them. It was normal enough to almost make Cammie forget about what she and her sort-of-boyfriend had done the night before.

But she didn't, not entirely. And the more she tried to ignore it, the more she would notice _Zach _and everything about him; the way his broad shoulders strained at his Gallagher uniform; the way he seemed to read every thought that ran through her head; his hand on hers, or the small of her back, or on either side of her face as he said a hurried goodnight before they were caught.

He was just being himself and she was being herself and it was what she wanted, right? She _didn't_ want more than kisses or long talks about their relationship or even the acknowledgement of the fact that they were graduating in four months. Or, God forbid, more sex and intimacy that was enough to make her forget her name.

But then Zach took his shirt off.

And her mind collapsed in on itself. And even as she reminded herself that she had seen him shirtless multiple times before, her stomach still twisted and her knees went weak and that _place_ between her legs began to buzz...

Damn him and his glorious abs. And arms. And chest.

Now, he straightened up, his breathing normal again. He was still looking at her with an intensely worried expression as she, dazed, stared at his chest. She didn't really care if he noticed her or not. She just wanted to look.

Cammie was a spy, so she was used to looking for details. She was trained to see the angle of every situation, every image, every person... So it was perfectly understandable, she reasoned, to let her gaze roam over the planes and lines of his torso. He was taller than her by quite a bit, so she craned her neck a little as her eyes wandered over his broad shoulders, his chest, his _abs_. The tendons beneath his skin, coiled and hard, were long and lean—most of him was long and lean, even if he was muscular—and she just wanted to touch it all. She wanted to kiss his shoulders and his stomach and hear him moan and feel the same little fluttery breaths coming her as he kissed her back and his tongue slipped in her mouth and she buried her face in his neck as he...

"Cammie, are you sure you're okay?"

She looked up into his eyes, startled. They were dark and concentrated solely on her.

"I really don't feel that well," she rasped, her throat suddenly dry.

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?"

"No!" she said abruptly. "Uh, I'm just going up to my room, I think."

Aware of how stupid she was acting, Cammie walked away, with Zach following soon after. She grabbed her duffel bag as Zach—who assumed that he was going with her she figured—explained to their teacher what was going on.

"Where are you two going?" Bex asked suspiciously, suddenly at Cammie's side.

Cammie knew Bex would see right through her and her hurriedly improvised excuse. Bex always did. Still, Cammie looked straight at her—kept her heart rate under control, pupils dilated, her light eyes on Bex's chocolate brown irises—and said that she wasn't feeling that well.

"And Zach is going with you…?"

Cammie shrugged. "I guess."

Bex smirked, but her eyebrows didn't rise suggestively or otherwise indicate what she was thinking which, knowing Bex, wasn't exactly reassuring. Cammie knew that, if her roommates didn't already know, it was just a matter of time before they did.

"Ready to go?" Zach asked her, the concerned crease still between his eyes as he took her elbow and smiled at Bex. "No worries, Baxter, I'm just taking her to her room."

"Oh, yes," Bex mumbled. "That's bloody _exactly_ what you're going to do, I'm sure…"

She sauntered away and left Cammie with a sinking feeling.

"Come on, Cam," Zach said, and she could still hear the worry in his voice as they walked away.

"Zach, does Bex know what I think she knows?" Cammie whispered (in Russian this time, so the group of ninth graders jogging past them wouldn't understand what was going on).

It was the first time either of them had even mentioned what had happened in Nebraska. If Zach reacted behind her—him holding her elbow as they walked, single-file, through the winding pathways that led to the school—Cammie didn't notice. The pressure of his large, warm hand on her elbow didn't change as he said, his voice flat, "It's Bex, Gallagher Girl. What do you think?"

"Do you think the rest of them know?" she asked.

"If Bex does, then the rest of them do. You know that."

They had reached the doors of the school, and he stepped around her and held it open for her, bowing ironically at the waist as the winter wind ruffled his dark hair. He was trying to reassure her and make her smile and worry about her and the way she was acting in P&E, all at once, and Cammie chose not to stop and marvel at why he allowed her to see everything in his eyes, and how he felt so many things and managed to hide it with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes and walked back into the school, suddenly sprinting up the Grand Staircase in an unofficial race she had just decided they were running.

"Hey, no fair!" he called behind her. The silent halls of the school—emptied of girls, all of whom were actually in their classes, like Zach and Cammie should have been—echoed with his footsteps behind her. "I thought you were sick," he said, barely winded, as he grabbed her from behind, his arms strong around as she laughed and he playfully kissed her neck.

"I feel better now," Cammie replied, her heart fluttering as his lips traveled up her neck to the skin beneath her ear.

She reluctantly broke out of his arms, grabbing his hand and walking forward before A) he could protest, B) a teacher could see them, C) she could change her mind about what she was about to do.

"Where are we going, Gallagher Girl?" He chuckled, catching up so they walked side by side.

"Where we said we were going all along," she whispered back.

They cut through the empty halls quickly, taking shortcuts through the East Wing and then through the hall where his room was. "Oh, I need to put my stuff away," he said suddenly, stopping in front of his door and turning the knob.

"You don't have your door locked?" She asked, genuinely surprised.

Zach turned, the room dark behind him. His face was serious as he said, "Not all of us need key-pad protected doors, you know."

"Yeah, well, maybe you do need them." His dark eyes were intense, and she felt her chest tighten as memories of all that had happened in the past year—D.C., the Tombs, last semester—rushed through her head. Her words were barely a whisper when she said, "They want you, too."

He shrugged, breaking her gaze as he turned and flicked on the light switch. He dumped his duffel bag onto his bed. "Not as much as they have always wanted you."

Cammie closed the door behind them, her footsteps soft as she stopped behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her face rested against his back and she breathed him in as he covered her hands with his own.

They stood there for a while, quiet in the cloud of memories that hung heavy in the air. The sound of the wind outside, bringing a sudden snowstorm to Roseville, almost drowned out the sound of their quiet breathing. Zach had started humming sometime in the minuets they had been standing there, and she almost recognized it but couldn't trace the tune.

She broke away, suddenly dizzy, and sat on his bed as he gathered clothes to change into. She almost giggled at his obvious attempts at dignified privacy—he went into the bathroom to change, the smug bastard—but kept it bubbled inside of her.

Flopping down on the bed, Cammie felt her eyes become heavy as she dreamily studied his room. It wasn't anything like the cluttered girl-lair that she shared with her friends. In her room, there were posters and knick-knacks and clothes strewn across the floor. Zach's room was much emptier, much more minimalistic. Still, it wasn't anything like the sterile suites that had housed the Blackthorne Boys during the exchange, which had been changed back to classrooms soon after. Unlike his old room, his bed was unmade and smelled of soap and boy; his books lay haphazardly on his desk, right next to a pile of CDs that she had never known he owned.

There was a picture of her on his beside table. It was unframed, no doubt from during the big cumulative examination sophomore year that had Madame Danbey giddy enough to unashamedly record the entire 'experience' with her camera that was disguised as a broach.

In the picture, she was laughing and not even looking at the camera, her expression far-off and distant. Cammie had almost forgotten how she looked that night, in the red dress that-after her unremembered summer-she could no longer fit into, with her makeup and hair styled.

The picture was worn and creased, like it had been with him for a long time.

"Where did you get the picture?" She asked when he came in from the bathroom. He must have taken the fastest shower in the history of the universe, because his hair was wet.

She looked up at him where he stood, a rare blush running up his face. He ran a hand through his hair in that usual way of his, and shrugged. "Joe, probably," he said finally. "He's always given me everything that had to do with you, information-wise, at least, so…"

"So, I take it he didn't just give you pictures?"

He smirked. "Maybe I just hacked into your file and got it all myself."

"So did he give you my history? First report from second semester?"

Still smirking, he shrugged noncommittally, but she knew it was true.

"The one about Jimmy?" He said finally. "Yeah."

She scooted over on the bed and he laid beside her, their bodies instantly melting into each other in a way that was new but strangely comfortable—his arm around her, her head on his chest, legs tangled together in a complicated weave of limbs.

"So you're not really_ just_ a spy. You're just a peeping-tom and a boy that reads the diaries of teenage girls."

She felt his laugh reverberate through his chest and she felt it throughout her entire body. She smiled, too.

"Only the ones I'm in love with," he said warmly.

The easy, goofy feeling that hung in the room—a stark contrast that of minutes before, one made of bloody memories—was instantly sucked out like the words he had just said were a black hole. All the things she had been willing to do, the rational thought she had been ready to set aside, all the things she _felt_ collided in her in a giant mess of emotions.

She sprang up, her eyes wide, and he sat up, his expression unreadable.

"Don't say anything," she said quickly.

His mouth snapped shut.

She stood and started pacing, needing to move and think and do anything but look at the boy on the bed.

"Cam, it shouldn't come as a surprise," Zach said after a while, his voice steady. She looked up at him, and his face was pure determination. "I've thought it enough, and I know you have, too."

She didn't deny it as she stopped pacing, facing the ice-encrusted window instead. The sky outside had turned dark gray since they had come inside, reminding her how much time had really passed, and she cursed herself for forgetting to count the passing seconds, the passing periods, the minuets and hours her roommates must have spent wondering where she was.

She forgot to keep track of time when she was with him, and it scared the shit out of her.

"Zach, I told you we shouldn't do this."

"Yes, but you were talking about sex, then. Not love."

Her shoulders tightened at the last word. She said nothing.

"So this means that I'm not allowed to love you now?" he yelled, his voice rising in anger. She whirled back to him, her eyes darting to the door, and he nodded in silent understanding. They needed to be quiet.

"Jesus, Cam," he muttered, once they were sure no one else had heard them. She sat beside him, and he ran his hands through his hair again, the movement jerky and stiff. She wanted to touch it and glide her fingers through the chocolaty softness, but thought it would be counterproductive. "Why don't we just break whatever this is off until this whole Circle business is done?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "My sentiments exactly."

"I was being sarcastic," he said. "That's the last thing I want."

"But it shouldn't be!" She burst out, her voice frustrated and entirely too loud. "This is seriously hazardous, and it needs to stop while everyone is still in danger—"

"But that's the thing, Gallagher Girl!" He interrupted, his eyes wild, "We're never going to be safe. Don't you get it? We chose this life, and we have to live with whatever comes with it, but, right now, we're young enough that we shouldn't let it get in the way of us. There will be enough time to worry about everyone else later."

"But what does 'us' mean, anyway?" She abruptly stood, fidgeting, the need to move incessant. "Were we even planning on an 'us' after graduation? Because honestly, Zach, I'm just glad to be alive right now. "

"Me too, Cam, but I still think about it. Every day I'm with you, I think of the future and what I want and what I know it will actually be like and how angry I am that that's the way it will be.

The air crackled as they stopped, breathing heavily with emotion.

"How will it be?" She asked, her voice small.

He smiled sadly. The look in his eyes made her feel broken. "The way I have always seen it, you're going to go into the CIA and live out the legacy your family and you have already made. I, on the other hand..." he pointed to his chest, the movement limp and sad and not at all like when he said 'spy'. "I will be lucky to get into any agency at all. I'm the son of a psychopathic terrorist who kills people for fun and God knows who else and I have so many black marks on my record, Cam, it's not even funny."

His dark eyes dropped to the floor, and she resisted the urge to collapse beside and kiss him until the shame in his eyes disappeared.

"I… I have always wanted a future with you, but I know that to want it is to drag you down with me and I won't do that. I refuse."

"What are you saying, then?" She asked, her voice chocked.

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "I guess I just wanted us to have this semester together. After graduation, I don't know where we'll be, and I just thought that we could make the most of now." His eyes met hers, dark and as intense as they had ever been. "I wanted you to grasp how I feel about you before we're dead or undercover or just... apart."

Cammie's chest tightened. Whether it was with discomfort or with the possibility in his words, she couldn't tell. Neither of them had gone into all of the feelings. All they needed to say was in the kisses, the worried looks, the sleepless nights spent wondering whether the other was dead in their corner of the universe.

Words were powerful, and she had never been sure that what they had was serious enough to merit them.

Still, she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"And how do you feel, Zach?"

He gave a sad, crooked little smile. The barely noticeable dimple in his right cheek winked at her, and she thought it terribly endearing.

"Spies don't talk about that kind of stuff, Cam. It's too dangerous."

She nodded, turning on her heel, half hoping that she would leave the room before he stopped her, the other half hoping he would. "Fine, then. I need to go, anyway, and I feel fine now, so..."

She put her hand on the doorknob, but his strong arms sliding around her from behind stopped her. Zach's breath was warm on her neck, and she could feel his heart pounding into her back.

"It was the red dress, Cam."

She furled her brow. "What?"

He chuckled. "The red dress. When I saw you in it, everything else in my life was gone."

Her heart started pounding, too.

"I was terrified," Zach continued, his voice shaky. "I didn't know what the hell was going on with me, because I _knew_ liking you was dangerous. I knew that my mom was somehow involved with your dad's disappearance. I didn't know that they wanted you, but the Circle is never above kidnapping family to make their prisoners talk."

She nodded as he pressed his face into her neck, the bitter revulsion evident in the way his arms tightened around her. She grabbed a calloused hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

He took a deep breath and continued.

"Still, though, I knew I liked you. A lot. So I stayed away as best as I could and that lasted two whole weeks and I just gave up after that. It wasn't worth it, because I really, _really_ wanted to kiss you."

She couldn't help but chuckle, and he exhaled a laugh in reply.

"I sound... I know. It's going to get worse, though."

She stopped breathing.

"I love you, Cam, because you are… God, I've had these thoughts for so long I can't keep them straight."

He swept her hair over her shoulder, kissing her neck thoughtfully. Cammie exhaled a soft moan, but Zach stopped and pressed on.

"I love you, because you are loyal. You would die for your friends and your mom and your grandparents, and I'm pretty sure there are others but I don't think it's my place guess who they are, even if one of them is me.

"I love you because you think you're this invisible being, this kind of… Ghost that only certain people can see. You _are_ a pavement artist, Gallagher Girl, but you're also beautiful in a way that can't be put into words like Bex and Macey or whoever else you compare yourself to. Your eyes are different every time I look at you, but they're green the most. You never laugh around me or anyone besides your mom and your friends and even though I want to make you smile more than I do, I know it's because you're like me in the way we save ourselves for certain people. You're brave, and you have these three freckles on your nose that I always think are little specks of dirt whenever I see them, but then I find a way to brush your nose without it being weird and I find out it's just those freckles, every time."

He was rambling now, that much was obvious, but the words washed over her just the same. She felt warm, and cherished. She felt known, and _seen_.

She turned to face him, his arms still around her. He leaned his forehead against hers, moving a hand up to her face. He rubbed his thumb over her cheeks, her lips.

"I wasn't exaggerating when I said I went crazy when you were gone, Cam. Bex could tell you. I remember this one night, where we had just lost our last lead and, Gallagher Girl, I remember screaming. I just… I just started screaming and howling and crying, because I was hurting and missing you and I thought you were dead. There…"

He trailed off, as if he wanted to stop there. She wound her arms around his neck, and he went on.

"There were some nights when I thought that, if we found your body, I wouldn't want to exist anymore because if you didn't, I wouldn't want to, either. I would die for you, Cameron Morgan, and that is how I feel."

They both exhaled, their breath shaky.

They were silent, and Cammie knew what had to be done. Screwing up her courage, she said,

"I love you too."

"Is that all?" he joked, chuckling breathlessly. "Do you have anything else to say, or—"

"You don't think I'm crazy, you never have, you called my Grandpa Morgan 'sir', you smell like what I think heaven would smell like if it were made entirely out of whatever soap you use, you give me these looks that make me feel like you know every crevice and corner of me, you have that smirk and that way of switching from cocky to serious that makes my head spin, and you have a way of putting words together that makes me forget how to breathe, and you are _good_, Zach. You are a good person and a good friend and you carry around the weight of who your mother is and what you were raised to be and I don't think you should, because that's not who you are."

He said nothing, simply pulling her closer.

"Also," she mumbled, begrudgingly, after a moment, "You really are very attractive."

"What was that?" He asked, his grin playful.

She sighed in exasperation. "You're really attractive, and your abs… God, Zach."

"So, you like my abs, huh?"

"Yeah. When you took your shirt off in P&E today, I saw them and I needed to get out of there."

"Well, yeah, you weren't feeling well, so—"

"No, Zach, I was just horny."

He was silent for a moment. Then he laughed—the kind of wheezing, breathless, gut-busting laugh that could last for seconds or hours—and she did too.

They laughed until they ended up on the floor, too weak to stand.

They laughed until their faces moved closer and closer together.

When they started kissing, they obviously were not laughing anymore.

The room was filled with light when the door suddenly opened, revealing a tall, Macey-shaped silhouette standing in the doorway. If she knocked, they didn't hear it, and tried to untangle themselves as best as they could—his hand slipped out from her pants and to his side; she straightened his shirt and ran a hand through her mussed hair.

Macey just raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.

"What's with you two and me finding you in compromising positions?"

Zach and Cammie, feeling like caught little kids from their sitting place on the floor, giggled.

Macey rolled her eyes. "Well, I was told to find the Chameleon so we could see if you were feeling okay, but—" her eyes slid over to them "You know."

She was about to walk away when Cammie burst out, "Macey?"

"What?"

Cammie looked up at her friend. "You won't tell my mom, will you?"

Macey pretended to look offended. "_Moi_?" She rolled her eyes again. "No, I won't."

"Or Mr. Solomon?"

"No."

"Or Bex and Liz?"

"Well…"

"_Macey_."

"Probably not about what you were doing, just that you're not dead or hanging off a balcony or whatever."

"Good," Cammie said, deciding to ignore the balcony comment.

With that, Macey closed the door and her sarcastic 'Don't get pregnant!' was ignored by the two because they were already back together like magnets.

Their kisses were frantic, and the tangle of limbs and mussed hair and hands was one that was familiar, one that they had discovered only a week or so before.

His shirt was the first to go. She inhaled his clean skin as she laid open-mouthed kisses on his neck, along his shoulders, down to his chest. She ran her hands along his abs, his chest, glancing down his sides to his hips. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was becoming deep. She felt his eyes trace every move she made. She traced the 'v' of his hip bones as she pulled his pants down, inch by inch, but he seized her hand before they were completely off.

"Cam, we're at school," he breathed. Their chests heaved together, and he untangled a hand from under her shirt, propping himself up on his elbows. "I don't think we—"

"Zach, we lost our virginity at my grandparent's house," she said drily. She still felt guilty about that, but she had done worse things in her life and knew she couldn't dwell on it forever. "I don't think we should have any qualms about having sex at school."

"Oh, that's where this is headed, huh?" He said, exhaling a laugh as he brushed hair out of her eyes. Their eyes mirrored the same look-sleepy, leisurely smile, eyes soft and glazed with happiness and lust. "I just didn't know if we would get in trouble with anyone, or—"

"We'll be extra quiet," she murmured against his neck as she kissed her way up to his ear, then along his jaw. He sucked in a breath, and gave in.

They made their way to his bed, in between open-mouthed kisses and little breathy moans and giddy shushes as reminders of the need to be quiet. He caught her before she tumbled onto the bed, and laid her down softly, his hands lingering on her sides and hips. The frantic energy was gone as he pulled her shirt up, inch by inch, until it was finally off and she felt the warm rush of having eyes on her without them being calculating or curious or cruel but were _there,_ simply because the person looking loved what he was looking at.

His hands roamed all over her torso as he explored the planes and hills of her body—the swell of her breasts, the fall of her stomach, the curve of her sides as they tapered down to her hips. She smirked as he mumbled—in Farsi, because the expletives in that dialect seemed to be his favorite—about how inconvenient it was that she was wearing both a bra _and_ pants this time.

"Well, sorry," she said sarcastically as he searched for a clasp then realized that there wasn't one because it was a sports bra.

"You know what? I'll just worry about it later," he huffed dramatically. She rolled her eyes as he moved his hands downward, and the annoyance in her vanished when he—in one smooth motion—slipped her pants and underwear off.

"Zach! Zach, what are you—"

"Hush, Gallagher Girl," he murmured. His eyes met hers as his hands wandered over her hips and down to her thighs, worshiping her form with reverent, calloused hands. Her eyes went wide as thumb wandered over to where she had known it would go, and he grinned playfully. "Just lie back and enjoy the show."

"_Zach…_" She hissed in warning, but he wasn't paying attention at that point.

He knelt down in front of her, parting her knees with his hands. She gripped the sheets as she stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about the possibility of someone walking in, or the Circle attacking at that precise moment, or who knows what else. Even if she was the one to stop his worries on that front, the fear wasn't far from her mind.

All thoughts, however, rushed out of her head when his tongue… _oh God._

Macey had told them about this one time, when she and Preston were alone, how they had taken things further than kissing. A lot further. Cammie and her roommates had closed their ears and told her to shut up, ignoring their curiosity so they would be able to look Macey in the eye once the story was over. Macey went on, though, and her muted voice told those stories of Preston doing unspeakable things with his tongue vice-versa and it was fascinating to Cammie but it was _Preston_ and _Macey_ and she didn't want to picture them doing those things.

But now, though, Cammie clenched the sheets in her hands and she knew why Macey wanted to tell them about it. She felt him grin against her, and she let go of the sheets and tried to pull his head closer, his silken hair sliding through her fingers. Her chest started heaving, and his name slipped from her lips over and over, like a song that she couldn't stop singing, or a prayer, each time becoming more and more breathless until the only sound in the room was the air coming in and out of her lungs faster than it ever had before.

When it was over, Zach slowly stood and slid his body over hers, gently moving her almost-naked, panting form up the bed so her head could rest on the pillows. Somewhere in between her climax and him coming back up, he had taken the rest of his clothes off and she could feel all of him, all over her, and the warmth that was creeping back into her belly was like the sun.

He leaned his forehead against hers, and she knew that every inch of him ached to just be with her. Still, something was holding him back.

"Zach, what is it?" She asked, her voice still breathless. "Because I'm on the pill, you know that—"

"No, it's just… Am I really _good_, Cammie? What you said before, about being a good person? Was that true?"

He leaned his head back, still over her and looking at her with an expression that nearly made her cry, so she could only imagine how he felt.

Her hands moved to his face .Like he had done before, she stroked his cheeks, his lips, his eyebrows and freckles. His eyes closed, and she felt a stirring, all over again, at how much he let her see; in the world that had been hers for so long, no one had ever truly let her hold power over them. But with this boy-the boy who was broken by his past, the one with the fathomless eyes, the smirk that covered up so many things- she fully felt what the weight of being loved felt like, more than ever before. She truly understood how much she had to loose.

Still, the life of a spy is built upon risks. Every time they either of them took a breath was another second that their enemies could kill them or the ones they loved.

And yet, Cammie mused, what is life without risks?

"Yes, Zach." Her voice was hushed, her eyes serious. "It was the absolute truth, and I will believe it until I die."

He kissed her, then, and it was a kiss full of belief. He believed what she said, even if it was only because the words were from her. But it was enough.

She pressed her hand to his chest, over his still-pounding heart, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and brought him close and knew that she would never allow herself to let it be otherwise.


End file.
